


your little harlot starlet

by bottleredhead



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always-a-girl!Combeferre, Always-a-girl!Courfeyrac, Always-a-girl!Enjolras, Always-a-girl!Grantaire, Enjolras is the blonde revolutionary who will fall for her okay, F/F, Like Moulin Rouge, Piningjolras, R is a sexy stripper who needs the money for tuition, Rule 63, Stripper AU, UST, but not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When R starts toying with the laces of her corset, Enjolras’ fists clench automatically. The sight of this, this <i>girl</i> is causing a low heat to pool in her gut, and she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it one bit. (She’s lying.</p><p>Her gaze devours R as she slowly and with excruciating preciseness unlaces the corset. She leans forward slightly when R’s fingers teasingly dance across the tops of her own breasts, a couple of fingers dipping into ample cleavage tantalisingly. She holds her breath when R allows the corset to drop from her chest to reveal a sheer bra underneath that matches the lacy underwear; and lace really, really works for R.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	your little harlot starlet

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this [this prompt](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13488.html?thread=10703536#t10703536) on the Les Mis kink meme.
> 
> I've never been to a strip club before so I'm not sure how they work, but I've done my research via Lord and Saviour Google.
> 
> Un-beta'd because I don't have a beta. If you're interested in being my beta, please find me at enjolraspermitsit.tumblr.com. -waves virtual cookies at you-
> 
> I haven't decided fully yet, but all characters will probably be genderbent, except maybe Patron-Minette.

Courfeyrac is practically buzzing as they wait in line to get into the strip club. The chill in the air does nothing to dissuade her from her manic plan to make sure Enjolras gets a lap dance – Enjolras muses, even as she feels her nose turn blue, that nothing short of her breasts turning black and falling off because of the cold will make Courfeyrac turn back. Then she wrinkles aforementioned frozen nose at the thought of Courfeyrac’s breasts – it’s bad enough that the woman barely has any modesty around their shared flat; Enjolras will not be adding to her own mental scarring.

Finally, after what seems like an hour of Courfeyrac’s excited babbling, the bouncer waves them through the door after they show him their IDs. Combeferre’s hand gets stamped because she turns twenty one in a couple of months, but Courfeyrac promises she’ll buy her a coke and rum that will most definitely get declined because no matter how much Courfeyrac pretends otherwise, Combeferre is their designated driver for the night.

“Sometimes I wonder how Courfeyrac is older than me, for all that she acts like a five year old,” Combeferre yells into Enjolras’ ear over the thumping music, tone wry and dry.

Enjolras rips her gaze away from the gleaming poles placed on top of a stage on which several scantily-clad girls are writhing. “Sometimes?” she asks, sardonic eyebrow rising so that it disappears in the blond curls hanging in her eye.

A laugh trills out of Combeferre’s open mouth. “Good point. Should we get something to drink? I feel weird just standing here.”

Of course, they’d already lost Courfeyrac, who has melted into the crowd. She’ll probably mingle and knock back a few drinks before finding her way back to them, so Enjolras simply shrugs her bare shoulders at Combeferre. “Sure, why not?”

At the bar, Enjolras gets a Shirley Temple while Combeferre sticks to cherry Coke. They drop into a comfortable silence as they lean against the bar, watching the proceedings going on around them with unveiled interest. Neither of them has been in a strip club before, so there _is_ much to observe.

It isn’t long before Courfeyrac finds them, face flushed and breath sweetened with various alcoholic cocktails. She grins at them, teeth flashing under the strobe lights, and places an arm around each one of them. “So?” she prompts, pulling them against her sides to emphasise her question. “Whaddya think? Fun, right?”

But Enjolras isn’t paying attention to her anymore, gaze focused instead on the preternatural creature prowling the stage in the highest fucking heels Enjolras has ever seen. The woman – _girl_ , really, her youthful face seems to scream – is gorgeous, her mile-long legs clad in black fishnet stockings that reach up to her thighs, which are a creamy white underneath. The stockings are clipped to her lacy underwear, also black, and arcing high on her hips. A corset shows off her hourglass figure, tiny waist cinched in and breasts barely contained and almost overflowing at the top. The baby pink laces of the corset match the pink blush creating two spots of colour on the girl’s cheeks. 

Joan Jett’s Do You Wanna Touch Me is blaring from the speakers, and the girl moves to the music. Her hips sway enticingly as her hands trail over them, talon-like nails scratching lightly across her thighs in a way that seems to drive the crowd mad. Faintly, Enjolras notices that she’s alone on the platform, which means that this is a special act, that _she_ is special.

Clearly, that much is obvious. The faux-innocent expression on the girl’s face is in vivid contrast to the gleam in her blue, blue eyes, which seem to say _I know what I’m doing to you and I’m enjoying driving you mad with lust._ Or, at least that’s what Enjolras thinks they say. It’s a little hard to decipher the exact words being conveyed, but there is no doubt that there is wickedness in those eyes. 

“Who is that?” Enjolras finds herself asking Courfeyrac, gaze still trained on the girl. There is a dryness in her throat, no matter how many times she swallows.

Courfeyrac nudges her, shooting a lecherous grin that Enjolras does not see but can most definitely feel the gaze of. “That, my dear Enjolras, is R.”

As if hearing her name, the girl’s gaze shifts to them briefly as her hands grip the pole, legs winding around the touch-heated metal. Her long, ink-black hair grazes the floor of the platform when she flips her torso downwards and upside down, sinfully-long legs wrapped around the pole in the same way Enjolras wants them to be wrapped around her own waist and – wait, what?

Enjolras shakes her head a little, trying to disperse all thoughts of her and R writhing in bed. Her imagination, already very, very active, does not need the added incentive as R starts writhing and twirling, the pole seemingly malleable in her fluid grip.

When R starts toying with the laces of her corset, Enjolras’ fists clench automatically. The sight of this, this _girl_ is causing a low heat to pool in her gut, and she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it one bit. (She’s lying.

Her gaze devours R as she slowly and with excruciating preciseness unlaces the corset. She leans forward slightly when R’s fingers teasingly dance across the tops of her own breasts, a couple of fingers dipping into ample cleavage tantalisingly. She holds her breath when R allows the corset to drop from her chest to reveal a sheer bra underneath that matches the lacy underwear; and lace really, _really_ works for R.)

One leg wrapped around the pole, and the other held straight in front of her, R leans over so her fingers skim the length of her calf before the latch on the stilettos on her foot, deftly plucking it off and dropping it to the side. She does the same with the other leg, shifting hold on the pole with what seems to be absolute ease ( _that’s some impressive core strength she has,_ a distant part of Enjolras’ mind thinks). Once she’s shoeless, R starts rolling the fishnet stockings down her legs, one at a time, and how can such a usually innocuous action be so provocative? 

Soon enough, R is left twisting around that damned pole in nothing but her mostly-sheer underwear. Her nails start scraping across her body once more, leaving fading tracks down her sides. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Courfeyrac asks conspiratorially when R’s arms reach behind her. The girl turns, placing her ass (round, Enjolras wants to bite at it) on display and letting the crowd see what she’s doing. The noise level doubles when her deft fingers flick open the clasp of her bra, and when she turns around again, the offending piece is slipping down her arms and her breasts are barely covered by long strands of her dark hair.

The blush on Enjolras’ cheeks turns into a full-scale flush when she catches a flash peek at one rosy nipple, feeling her own harden in response to her arousal. Fuck, this is torture, and why the hell had she allowed Courfeyrac to dress her tonight? The short, wrap dress isn’t hers, which means it is a size too small and Courfeyrac had insisted she doesn’t wear a bra or panties underneath because “Enjolras, I know certain concepts such as fashion are hard for you to understand, but you _cannot_ wear underwear with a wrap dress. Panty lines are not attractive.” Anyone who looks at her chest will know that she has the figurative ladyboner for R.

Unfortunately, or very fortunately depending on how you look at it, the song melts into another one, prompting R to send a wink at the crowd and smile cheekily before sauntering off the platform cockily. Three strippers take her place, but they cannot hope to hold a candle to the full-on inferno that is R.

“Oh my God,” Enjolras hears herself moan quietly, hoping that neither of her friends hears her – or glances slightly south of her face.

But because she is who she is and the universe hates her, Courfeyrac smirks lecherously at her once more. “I take it R made an impression?” 

Combeferre’s expression is sympathetic; she knows how Courfeyrac will not shut up about the topic now that she’s started. “R certainly put on a show.” And because she and Enjolras share a brain, she adds: “She’s got some amazing core strength.”

Courfeyrac bursts into giggles. “Trust me,” she says, voice pitched high to be heard over the thumping of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me and eyes glazing over. “She knows how to put that core strength to good use.”

A sudden, irrational flash of jealousy flares up in Enjolras’ chest at the insinuation in Courfeyrac’s voice. She tamps it down in favour of turning a quizzical gaze on her best friend. “You’ve slept with her?” And if her tone is slightly accusatory, well, neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac will call her out on it.

“Um, sorta?” Courfeyrac says, scratching the back of her neck absentmindedly. “I seem to remember a couple of mutual orgasms and several pub crawls, but it was all casual. Y’know, our schedules rarely matched up and all that.”

Combeferre rolls her eyes at Courfeyrac. “Seriously Courf, do you sleep with everything with legs?” Her tone is teasing, removing any sting from the words. Besides, it is a well-known fact that Courfeyrac likes to sleep around – just because Enjolras herself is more of a relationship person doesn’t mean that Courfeyrac’s lifestyle is damning or wrong.

Courfeyrac is unaware of the thoughts swirling in Enjolras’ head, choosing to laugh at Combeferre’s words. “’Ferre, baby, you know you want a piece of this,” she sniffs, waving a hand up and down her body. “I’m sexy and you know it.”

That startles a snort out of Enjolras. “I can _not_ believe you went there.”

“Hush, you love me. Oh, and Enjolras?”

“Yeah?”

“R is coming our way.”

Enjolras’ head snaps up in wide-eyed alarm, gaze roving until she spots what Courfeyrac has noticed. R is now fully dressed in a pair of painted-on jeans and a plain, bottle-green shirt that’s a few sizes too large for her slender frame. Her curls are brushed into a ponytail, face void of make up and the baby pink lipstick she had on earlier, light lip gloss in its place. And yes, she’s headed right towards them.

“Courfeyrac!” R grins, hugging the girl in question before stepping back to hold her at arm’s length. “Haven’t seen you in a while, you ass. Where’ve you been?”

Enjolras tries to focus on Courfeyrac’s answer, but her brain is trying not to melt into goo at the sound of R’s voice, which is a sharp soprano that just _does things_ to her, those things mainly being making her knees weak and impeding all higher brain function.

“These are my best friends and roommates,” Courfeyrac is saying when Enjolras manages to tune back into the conversation. “Enjolras, who is a poli sci major and is capable of tearing you to shreds verbally, and that’s Combeferre, who is basically Yoda except she doesn’t speak funny.”

Combeferre’s eyes are sparkling with mirth at her friend’s antics, the smile evident in her voice as she turns towards R. “Ignore Courf, she sucks-“

“That’s what she said,” Courfeyrac interrupts gleefully, earning a short laugh from R.

Combeferre ignores her, too used to the cringe-worthy line for it to warrant anything other than a quick eye roll. “-at life in general. It’s nice to meet you. You were pretty great up there.”

A light blush creeps over R’s skin as Enjolras watches in fascination. How can she appear so bashful at a simple statement of fact when she looked like a predator on the hunt when practically naked in front of dozens of strangers? “Um, thanks. It pays,” she explains with a shrug. Then her gaze turns to Enjolras, giving her a once-over that causes goosebumps to break out over the bare skin of her arms. The smile that spreads on R’s face is slow and predatory, no trace of the blushing girl from a moment before. “Enjolras, was it?”

Despite the alarms going off in her head, which are screaming contradictory statements of _run away_ and _run towards her_ , Enjolras manages to act like her normal self, which is to say expressionless and stoic. “Yes. Hello.”

R’s smirk doesn’t falter, however, reaching even wider. Then she glances at her watch. “Well, I better be off. Things to do, etc. It was nice to meet you both. Courf, it was nice to see you again, we should go out for a pint sometime. Combeferre, Enjolras, you’d be very welcome to join us.”

R takes a few steps away from them before twirling around, blue gaze fixed on Enjolras. “I wouldn’t mind being taken apart by you, whether… _orally_ or otherwise.” She winks and disappears into the crowd.

Courfeyrac whirls around to face Enjolras as Combeferre slaps her palm to her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the laughter bubbling up her throat at the sight of Enjolras’ face, which is wild-eyed and bright red with repressed hormones.

“ _Dude_ ,” Courfeyrac croons. “She totally just hit on you. Like, oh my God, she was undressing you with her eyes!”

Enjolras licks her suddenly dry lips and tries not to think of R’s tongue sweeping across them instead. “I realise that, thank you, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes are about to bug out of her head with how wide they are. “And? Are you going to do something about that or not? Like, I dunno, flirt back, maybe? Go on a date? Have awesome, mutual orgasms that’ll have you thanking me for dragging your ass out here?”

Combeferre, who can see how uncomfortable Enjolras is with the conversation underneath the perfectly frozen mask of her face, steps in. “That’s enough, Courf. If Enjolras decides to do anything about that, it’ll be her decision and on her own time, yeah? Now, let’s get out of here because I have a lab tomorrow morning…”

Enjolras tunes out the conversation as she trails behind her two best friends as they maneuver their way out of the club, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to do more than send Combeferre a thankful smile. She doesn’t say anything, quiet the whole ride to their flat, and tries not to think too much about how accurate Courfeyrac’s words are.

She obviously has a cold shower waiting for her back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) Comments and kudos are very welcome.
> 
> The title is from Lana Del Rey's Off To The Races. Find me at enjolraspermitsit.tumblr.com
> 
> Should I continue? Should I not?


End file.
